


war's in my mind

by golddaggers



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, Larry - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, Louis/Harry - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Captain!Louis Tomlinson, Friends to Lovers, Harry Styles Has a Crush on Louis Tomlinson, M/M, Non-Famous Louis Tomlinson, Shy Harry Styles, Slow Build, Slow Build Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golddaggers/pseuds/golddaggers
Summary: the worst thing happens: harry's parents find out about his sexuality and force him to enlist in the army. what he didn't know was that he'd be under captain louis tomlinson tutelage.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 9





	war's in my mind

** October, 1998 **

Things never seemed to happen the way I wanted them to. I blamed my crappy luck and the tendency to attract problems like moths drawn to the warm light of light bulb on a crisp winter night. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do but settle with what I’d got. 

Two weeks, seventeen hours and twenty two minutes ago, my parents found out about my sexuality. It wasn’t something traumatising per se. They didn’t catch me in the act with a boy, nor getting myself off by looking at a magazine. None of that. What they did find was my journal, the one I kept notes about my life, poems, songs even. My mum wasn’t the snooping type, but I could understand the appeal of uncovering one’s secrets.

Inside said book, well, there were lots of them. 

First I think I should say that I’m a hopeless romantic. I’m barely 18, but I’ve got a knack for emotions, been in love once or twice. Had fallen for several eyes during my early teens. All of them I kept inside my words. Some were already fading, I couldn’t even make out what I wanted to say then properly. Either way, it was a nice memento to look back. Reminisce on how I once felt about someone. 

Writing has something personal to it, you open up and wear your heart on your sleeve. At least the good authors do. I met a couple in my short amount of years. Don’t like them at all, they’re full of it. However, it was attending a writer’s group meeting that I met James Powell. A tall, blond guy. He’s helped me not just with the flow of my words, but also to find out I might not like girls as much as I thought I did. Or if I even like girls at all. 

He was nice, easy going, had proper manners, was older than me. I just couldn’t help myself. Don’t think anyone would if they meet him. So words started spilling, I filled the empty pages of my little journal with poetry about him. About those honey eyes, the way his hair fell into place effortlessly… He was a masterpiece, designed by greek gods or something. 

I sighed. I shouldn’t be thinking about him anymore. First, I didn’t think he liked men, even if he did, I doubted I’d be his type. Second, he’s caused me enough trouble. Right. If my stupid crush hadn’t developed… I wouldn’t be in any, so it wasn’t exactly his fault. I just needed someone to blame. Someone to be angry at that wasn’t my parents. Being pissed off with them seemed wrong when they’ve done so much to bring me up. Sacrificed a huge chunk of their lives so I had a warm plate of food every night, good education.

They were good people.

Needless to say when my mum read my journal, she wasn’t pleased. Said this was not the way to write about boys. I was confronted, so I said, “I don’t know what I feel, I’m so confused.”. Next thing I know, I’m being shipped off to the army, my dad adamant that it’d help me become more of a man. I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t even know why I was less of a man. There were many questions soaking up my brain, and I didn’t seem to be any closer to finding answers. 

The boy staring back at me in the mirror was a mess. Hair down, falling in gentle waves to the shoulders, that were slumped forward, like he didn’t want to expose himself. Like stuffing his chest would cause him pain. He was lanky, clumsy. Not at all built for the military. God. What if they chewed me alive over there? What if I suddenly had a mission? Travel to a place where nothing but war was known? What if I was shot? What if I died? I didn’t want to admit but I was fucking scared of everything.

“Love?” I heard my mum say, a soft knock on my door, “Dinner’s ready. Made fish and chips. Almond pie for dessert, I know it’s your favourite.”

“I’ll be down in a bit, yeah? Just finishing up packing,” It’s noticeable how my voice is a second away from cracking, she comes up to where I’m sitting, taking the empty space beside me.

“Don’t be like this, hun,” Mum pats my shoulder, trying to be soothing, “Things will be alright, you’ll see how this is actually for the best… Plus it’s only a year.”

“Easy to say when you’re not the one going.”

She seems hurt and I feel bad right after finishing the sentence. It’s not her fault. And it could be worse. I read stories about kids being sent to conversion centres, undergoing drug treatments to wipe the gay away, being physically hurt… At least all I’d have to do was chop off my hair, work out and learn how to shoot. Sure, it could be, it probably was, a tad more than that, but still, the prospect seemed much better.

Her eyes are locked on me. I feel them analysing me, trying to figure me out. Nice try. How could she figure me out when I haven’t even done that myself? Each day I seem farther from unclosing just who the hell I was supposed to be.

“Well, um, you’re going. And It’s best you make your peace with it.” It’s a quiet statement. Matter-of-factually, “Now come on, you can finish that later.” 

I nod. What else could I do but comply?

\--

It’s a bright morning, the sun is shining despite the freezing temperature, we’re at the peak of winter. Both mum and dad decided they wanted to drop me off, make sure I was in the right hands. Secretly I was aware they wanted to make sure I wouldn’t run away, disappear before ever walking inside the enormous building.

Not that I was actually brave enough to do such a thing. 

I wasn’t brave to do anything, if I was being honest. Couldn’t even slip inside my bag a new pad. Or a pen. What would the guys think of me? I had enough bullying at school for being so quiet and reserved, my gut told me I should steer clear of the subject ‘liking men’. Writing wasn’t something manly. At least it was what I’ve been told.

“Good luck, sweets,” Mum presses a kiss to my cheek, her own are moist with tears, “Write us letters when you can, yeah? We’re going to miss you.”

“Let the boy go, Anne.” My dad sounds detached, distant, “It’s your coddling of him that’s got him here.”

“Don’t be silly, Des.” 

He rings a bell. It’s only a second before a burly lad comes up to us. Sergeant Holland seems to be in his early thirties, a buzz cut and thin lips. The man seems tired, like he hasn’t slept well in ages, which was likely to be true. I shook, unsure if out of fear or cold. Definitely hadn’t dressed to the occasion.

My parents wave me a last goodbye before the Sergeant takes me with him inside the quarter. 

It’s not a _bad_ place. The walls appear to be freshly painted in green, covered with pictures of past soldiers, lieutenants, majors, captains. All of them in their prime glory. Lads are up and about, shouting, laughing out loud, minding their own business. Perhaps the time here wouldn’t be so painful after all. 

A gush of icy wind makes my body hair stand up.

“We need to do something about that hair, later I’ll have Malik have a look on you,” Holland says, right before we take a turn to the left, “This is where you’ll be staying.”

“There are other boys sleeping here as well?” It sounds dumb to ask and he certainly looks at me like I am.

“Yeah. Think this is your snotty little rich house, curls?” 

“Uh, no. ‘Course not. I’m sorry I asked.” 

“Hush boy.” A loud laugh rattles his whole body, “Niall and Liam should be back in a while. You’ll be staying with them and they’ll show you the ropes of where you can have showers, eat and stuff like that. Oh. Louis should come by in a quarter, he likes to meet the newbies.”

I hum an agreement and he leaves. It’s very gracious, a man that big should have heavy footsteps, but he doesn’t. What a stupid thought, Styles. My mind swirled around my new surroundings. 

The room wasn’t big, two sets of double beds, a couple of bags piled up in a corner, a tinny mirror on the wall. Mush green walls. Everything was green in this place. 

There was an urge to write a letter to Pam.

Pam had been my best friend since fourth grade. She was this little girl with long hair always up in pigtails, brown eyes and the kindest smile in the world. She knew everything there was to know about me. Not that there was much to know. I was just a simple boy from a small town wandering around the world seeking my own peace of mind while doing the things I liked. I was aware I was young, but I had dreams, I had goals. And I’d do what I could to get there.

The twin sized bed was all I had of space. No closets or anything, so I tucked my bags under the bottom bed, sitting down and contemplating how my life had changed in so little time. Why could the simple act of loving someone be ruled out as so awfully wrong? I shouldn’t feel guilty for liking a person, yet here I was. And if I was being honest, I didn’t even like James that much. 

I let out a small huff and shook my head. No use crying over spilled milk. 

No pictures were around, so I had no idea what Liam or Niall looked like. They could be around my age, older, tall, short, stocky, slim, rude or nice. No way of me being able to know. Their appearance didn’t matter anyway. I only hoped they wouldn’t give me a hard time, since we’d be spending lots of it together. Maybe we could be friends, who knows? 

This Louis guy though. I had a pretty strong guess he’d be old, creases under his eyes, he’d might be bald, perhaps tall, athletic build. Someone who could inflict control with a single glance. I liked this little game of mine. To guess how people looked from their names. Maybe it was a writer quirk. Creating a whole person from a single noun. 

Well. I supposed I’d find out soon enough.

Air’s damp, there’s no use looking out the tiny window because I know rain is being concocted out there. I’m sure I packed an olive green knitted sweater and I should put it on. Honestly I should do something instead of pace around the cubicle that’d serve as my home for the next 12 months.

12 months. That seemed like an awful lot of time. God. I would go insane. That would be my fate, being locked up forever in a psychiatric facility after a day in the quarter. 

There’s a soft rap at the door. I forgot it was even closed, but I tell them to come inside either way. It opens with a creak and this figure appears, a magnetic force tugging me in. A man, late twenties. Looks like a freaking model. He’s shorter than me by an inch or two, lean but seems strong enough to lift an adult without any issues, his hair is carefully shaved on the sides, but the top is longer, chocolate locks falling into place, it looks healthy and shiny. 

A part of me feels like I could stare at him forever. 

He’s got a smile on his face, nice and easy, and those eyes are the prettiest thing I’ve laid my eyes upon, blue. The shade of the skies after a thunderstorm. Crystalline sea waves meeting the shore. Something eternal. Something I could spend the rest of my days writing about. It rouses the dead asleep butterflies on my stomach. 

“You must be Harry,” I nod, speechless, “I’m Louis Tomlinson. Your captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or a kudo, it really drives us to keep on writing. thank you for reading either way. 
> 
> leth x


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